


Military Honours

by jessebee



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Angst, Clothing, Drinking, Emotional Comfort, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Millenium Falcon, More Sex, Murky past, Oral Sex, Past Character Death, Porn with Feelings, Prostate Massage, Reminiscing, Seduction, Sex, Shameless Smut, Slash, bereavement, dealing with death, diD I MENTION SEX
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8121016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessebee/pseuds/jessebee
Summary: Luke had known the man had a scruple or three, but sweet gods below, this is not the time for him to find them.(Or:  you don't really think Luke made it to 19 still a virgin, do you?  Looking like that?)





	

 

 

 

Luke is very nicely, quite delightfully drunk.

 

Not completely out of it, of course, because (a) he's been drinking intoxicants for a whole lot longer than Uncle Owen would (probably) have approved of, and (b) he's got a helluva lot better tolerance than he figures his now fellow Rebels suspect, but he is feeling no pain for the first time in weeks, since before that damned sandcrawler full of Jawas and droids arrived –

 

Nope, not thinking about that. Not right now.

 

His new friend Wedge Antilles is holding court at the moment among the gaggle of pilots in this corner of the hangar they'd staked out, declaiming about some mission other than the Death Star run, amazingly. (Only pilots, no princesses, which is a dirty shame because Luke's pretty sure from the look in her eyes that Leia would rather have been drinking with them than doing whatever with the higher-ups who'd shepherded her away … )

 

Not that they'd talked out the Death Star run yet, of course. Luke considers the matter, hazily, and gives it at most five more minutes before the conversation comes back around to _that trench!_ and _those towers!_ one more time.

 

And the slipped-in-sideways mentions of the pilots they'd lost. Luke gets what's going on with that, he does. But he's not thinking about Biggs right now, either.

 

Luke himself has also slipped sideways, possibly deliberately, until he's leaning fairly firmly against his other (not so new) friend Han Solo, who'd been holding court himself earlier in the evening with stories that Luke suspects were about a third of the truth, or maybe half at most. But the older pilots, most of whom have left now, probably gone elsewhere to acquire a better class of hangover than they'd get with whateverthehells this is that they are drinking here, some of them had been less skeptical, their gazes sometimes resting on Han's legs.

 

Now Han's legs are, all by themselves, more than worthy of extended periods of gazing (Luke's been doing a bit of that himself – okay, fine, more than a bit), but it's more probably the thousand little red bars down the outside seams of his dark blue pants that were getting the attention.

 

They had certainly gotten Wedge's. “ _Damn, he's got blood-stripes.”_

 

“ _Huh?” Luke looked up in alarm, was somebody injured?_

 

“ _No, him.” Wedge poked him in the ribs and Luke looked the other way, but it was only Han there, leaning by the doorway to the briefing area._

 

“ _Oh, you mean Han. Those red stripes on his pants?”_

 

_Wedge looked hard at Luke. “Yeah, you're not Corellian.” Luke about felt his hackles come up, but it seemed the pilot wasn't going to be a jerk. “They're military honours, one of the highest Corellia gives,” Wedge explained, low-voiced. “And that guy – Han, you said? – has got them first class.”_

 

_Damn, but Luke had just known that there was more to the man than “mercenary.” “And that's rare?”_

 

_Wedge snorted. “What's rare is that he's walking around in them. Most times they get awarded posthumously.”_

 

Startled, Luke had opened his mouth with another question but that'd been when General Dodonna had arrived along with Princess Leia and some others and the Death Star briefing started. And after that it had been the sharp cut of Han leaving and all go-go-go and flying up and out and straight down into the maw of hell and oblivion –

 

– except that Han had come back. Han had been there for him.

 

And Han is here for him now, right next to him, smelling good enough to lick: a little sweat and some kind of warm, exotic scent and himself, and very faintly of the _Falcon,_ fuel and coolant and mechanics. Familiar, like every repair garage Luke had ever been in, all the places he and Biggs –

 

No, dammit, Luke is still not thinking about that.

 

Han must catch his shiver. “'s up, kid? Whatcha think, time to call it a night?”

 

His friend's deep voice pours over Luke's skin like something hot and sticky-sweet, and he's not ready to give up the physical contact yet either. “Nah, I'm – ”

 

The yawn ambushes him out of nowhere and nearly cracks his jaw before it retreats.

 

“Suure you are.” Han chuckles softly but Luke doesn't hear any malice in it. In fact, does he hear – can that be right? Or is it his own boozy wishful thinking?

 

“Sober as a judicator, you are,” Han goes on. “They get you some bunk space yet?”

 

“Uhm, don't think so.” Well, there'd been no point at first, really, had there?

 

And afterwards, when they all actually hadn't been blown into space grit, Luke had changed onboard the _Falcon_ for the medals ceremony, _into the new clothes he'd been given and the pants, dear gods, the_ _ **pants**_ _with their yellow bar striping down the outside seams – were they really – ?_

 

_Han looked him over carefully, and nodded. “Blood-stripe, second class; good. You deserve it, kid.” And Chewbacca's growl sounded like approval._

 

“'s all right, you c'n sleep on the _Falcon_. Gentlebeings,” Han says more loudly, “and I use that term real loosely, we'll say goodnight, because I got every intention of having my morning-after in private, thank you very much, and Luke here don't deserve to wake up here with all your faces either.”

 

Jeers and cheers and raucous goodnights trail them as they extricate themselves from the circle of partiers, some of whom aren't even pretending to be upright anymore. It's going to be sheer carnage in here tomorrow, that's for sure, even before the Alliance brass get a look at them.

 

He and Han head for the corner where the _Falcon_ is berthed. Luke finds himself lagging just a little bit behind accidentally on purpose, because Han's rear view is sheer poetry in motion at any time but after a drink or three? That stride has got to be illegal in at least fifteen systems.

 

Han's been throwing looks over his shoulder during the trip and now he reaches back and wraps his long fingers around Luke's arm and that's just _fine_ with Luke. “C'mon, kid. Let's get you in while you're still mobile, because I ain't carrying you if you're not.”

 

And for some reason that strikes Luke funny. Maybe it's the instant mental image of his own gangly self cradled in those strong arms like a shy virgin in a bad holodrama, and he laughs. Han grins at him but doesn't laugh himself, and Luke wishes he would. Han's got a great laugh, what Luke's heard of it, low and throaty …

 

He lets Han maneuver him up the _Falcon's_ ramp and in, and then leans against the bulkhead while Han raises the ramp and secures the ship for the night. Is Chewie on board? The Wookie had disappeared fairly early during the drinking, muttering something rude about the silly habits of humans, or so Luke thinks. Maybe. Because he's good with languages but Shriiwook is _hard_ , and –

 

Han turns and their eyes catch, and for maybe three eternal seconds, everything stops.

 

Han blinks, before he continues on into the passenger lounge. Luke just hangs onto the wall.

 

Only those few moments of contact, but they've cleared the haze from Luke's brain like the shock of rain, because he _knows_ that look. He's seen it before, aimed at him, just – not from Han. He _knows_ it, and he _feels_ what's behind it, in that funny familiar way he's felt things sometimes before in his life and maybe he's got a name for that now, maybe that's the Force because it's a lot like what happened over the Death Star and yet it's nothing like that at all.

 

Han wants him.

 

Han _does_ want him, the same way Luke wants Han.

 

Hot _**damn**_.

 

“I'm turning on the air recycler, Luke,” Han is saying as Luke gets himself into the lounge. “Wet as this planet is, somethin' I didn't invite is gonna start growing in here if I don't wring the moisture out. Unfortunately, that means it'll get colder, too, which I know ain't your thing, and the ambient controls in the cabins aren't real good. So it'll have to be blankets,” Han goes on, heading for the short corridor where the cabins are, “and I've got some extras in here – ”

 

Luke follows him. _Stretch out with your feelings_ , Ben had said. Well, all right then. “We could just pile them all up on your bed.”

 

Han stops dead, right there by his open cabin door, and his shoulders go tight, before he swings around and fixes Luke with dark, glittering eyes and a raised eyebrow. “You did not just say that.”

 

It's the pirate talking now, cynical and dangerous and sexy as hell. Luke steps forward like he's caught in Han's personal tractor beam. “Sure I did.” And he doesn't mean his voice to go low like that but it does anyway. “And it'll be plenty warm with both of us there.”

 

Han's breath catches. Softly, but Luke hears it. Han shakes his head once, slowly, and closes his eyes, and when they open again he's wearing a different expression. “You don't mean that, kid. You're ripped, and believe me, it's all gonna look a lot different in the morning.”

 

Luke takes another step. “'m tipsy, Han, but I'm not that drunk. I know what I mean.”

 

Han snorts. “No, you don't.”  
  


Like hells he doesn't. “Yeah, I do. I know exactly what I want. I want – not to think right now. I want to have some fun. And I really want to have it with you.”

 

“Save it for your pretty princess.” And Han's shaking his head “no” again, but his eyes –

 

Luke had known the man had a scruple or three, but sweet gods below, this is _**not**_ the time for him to find them. “Han,” Luke says, low. One more step and he's close enough to touch, and he wraps his fingers around Han's wrist, where the edge of his sleeve has ridden up. His friend's skin is very warm, and the shock of flesh to flesh tingles Luke all over. “She is beautiful, isn't she? But she doesn't – do it for me.”

 

He'd swear that Han's eyes get darker. “And – I do?”

 

Luke swallows, and absolutely cannot help looking at the tanned skin exposed in the opened throat of Han's shirt. There are little curls of auburn hair there, beckoning, and Luke wants to touch them so badly that his fingers are starting to ache. His cock is already pushing against his pants. “You do,” he breathes out, and makes himself look back up. “You really, really do.”

 

“Luke – ”

 

And Luke can't stand this any longer. _Kill or cure_ , and he steps forward the last inches right into Han's space, threads his fingers into soft tangled hair and pulls Han's head down, and kisses him.

 

And maybe it's gonna be kill after all because other than one sharp breath Han doesn't move, doesn't move – until he does, and somehow they are through the door and across the room and Luke is flat on his back on Han's bunk with half again his weight in fine Corellian quality on top of him.

 

The press of Han's body is wonderful, even as it shoves most of Luke's air out in a grunt. But the sound is enough to make Han break the liplock and pull back, bracing up on his elbows. “Hey, you okay?”

 

There's a new, odd, melty sort of feeling starting behind Luke's breastbone. He slides his fingers into Han's hair again to be sure the other man doesn't get any further away. “Would you please not ask dumb questions?” he asks, fairly gently, he thinks, considering that Han's weight against his erection is almost enough to make his eyes cross. He rocks his hips up a little to try and make the point, and breathes in sharply at the fire that licks up his spine.

 

Han's expression softens into a grin. “Got it,” he says, and his eyebrows do something half-sinister-looking before he lowers his head and licks along Luke's jaw. Electricity sparks across Luke's skin, and gets stronger as Han blows warm breath across Luke's ear and then nibbles at it. The muscular thigh planted between both of Luke's presses down and Luke's eyes do cross this time before he squeezes them shut because _sweet_ _**suns**_ that feels good.

 

He's feeling something else too – the firm ridge pressing into the top of his thigh. Han is hard. For him.

 

Sensation flashes out over every inch of Luke's skin and he moans, digging his fingers into Han's back and arching up because he can't kriffin' help it. Han licks and nips his way down Luke's throat until he gets to the open neck of Luke's shirt and latches on, sucking hard just above the collarbone and that'll leave a mark and Luke completely does not care. He moans again, squirming, as Han gets the shirt fasteners undone and his fingers on Luke's right nipple.

 

Luke swears and claws at the back of Han's shirt and vest, yanking the fabric up so he can get his hands on skin at last. He rubs at the small of Han's back and then tries to go lower. Not enough give at Han's waistband to get his hands underneath, frustratingly, so Luke slides them over fabric instead and gets two hands-full of Han's magnificent rear, and squeezes.

 

Han gasps and then groans, low and rough, and every hair on Luke's body stands on end. He wants to hear more of that.

 

Han pushes back against Luke's hands and then grinds down on him, erection a hard line of heat against Luke's leg. Luke pushes back and – “Ow-ow.” Han makes a questioning noise and Luke has to grin, because wouldn't you know it? “Blaster, I think. 's never like that in the holos – ”

 

A snort from Han that sounds like laughter. “Nope, it ain't. All right, this's all gotta come off, right now.”

 

Luke grabs the edge of the bunk as Han rears back and wrestles the high boots off of him and drops them somewhere. Long fingers find the strap around Luke's thigh and then the blaster belt buckle at his waist with an ease and speed that say Han has done this in the dark more than a few times, then dispose of his own sidearm just as quick. Those same fingers then unfasten Luke's pants, peel his brand new military honours down his legs along with his underwear, and Han is kissing him again, just not on the mouth.

 

Luke spares about half a second to be grateful for the amount he's drunk tonight because if he hadn't, he wouldn't last more than exactly that same half-second. Han's mouth is almost cool against Luke's overheated skin, and his hand wraps about the base of Luke's cock tight, tight, and that's got to be the only other reason why Luke doesn't immediately come because this is sooo good. So good, Han's lips and his – gods – _his_ _tongue_ playing up the sides and over the crown and fingers cupping Luke's balls and it is so good, _so_ good, gods, _too_ good, “Gods, Han, stop. Han, stop, stopstop _stop_ c'mere,” pulling at Han's hair, “come up here – ”

 

Han does stop, damn him, and Luke pants hard, gritting his teeth so he doesn't beg Han to go right back to exactly what he was doing. Han slides up Luke's body and that's fantastic too, skin and cloth teasing Luke's hypersensitive cock as he does and gods, why is the man still dressed? “Not your thing, kid?” Han asks, and his voice is raspy.

 

What is he, crazy? “Are you _crazy?_ It's _**wonderful**_.” Luke drags him in and kisses him, wiggling his tongue past Han's teeth and oh gods that's him, that's _himself_ he's tasting in Han's mouth, and the obscene thrill of it whips through his belly.

 

“But not so fast,” he whispers, and slides his hands down Han's neck and over his shoulders and urges him back just far enough to see his face in the cabin's half-light. “I wanna touch you, too.”

 

A pause, and then Han smiles at him in a way Luke doesn't think he has done before. “Y'do, huh?” Han leans down and kisses his mouth now, slow and thorough, before he rolls to the side and half onto his back (which is a neat trick in a bunk this size), all lazy grace. “Knock yourself out,” he says, but Luke wouldn't believe the nonchalant tone even if he couldn't see the flatteringly impressive erection straining the front of Han's pants.

 

Han really does want him.

 

Luke grins. Oh, it's party time.

 

He leans up onto his elbow and keeps going until he's half looming over Han, and puts his other hand on Han's leg. For balance, of course. “I do. Want to touch you. All over.” He runs that hand slowly up and over Han's hip and absolutely does not miss the way the man's breath catches. He keeps going until he reaches the fasteners on Han's shirt and works them open and finally, finally gets a good look at Han's chest.

 

He's perfect. Broad but not too broad, skin darkened from a thousand different suns. Luke cups firm pectoral muscle and gets his fingers into the dark curls that have been taunting him since Mos Eisley. He sifts through them happily, catching a nipple with the heel of his hand, loving the silky, moist feel of skin and Han's appreciative noises. He smooths over ribs and flat stomach and back up, and he needs a taste.

 

Salt and musk and something tangy zing on Luke's tongue as he licks over firm curves and discovers a pebbled nipple, and Han sighs and shifts under him, big hands wandering over Luke's back. Luke drifts his fingers down the fine hair trail that leads to Han's waist and lower, finally, to curve them over the solid jut of Han's cock.

 

Han's breath goes out in a hiss and his hips rock up. “Luke – ”

 

Luke hums around the nipple he's been sucking and sets his teeth lightly into it and tugs while he grips and rubs at the hard mound under his hand. And Han makes that sound again, that fantastic groan, and it vibrates through both of them this time, kicking pulses of heat through Luke's chest and areas further south. “Luke. Gods, kid, where'd you – you're a surprise.”

 

Mmm-yes. Han's clothes need to get gone, right away, which means Luke is going to have to stop what he's doing. Only for a few minutes, of course.

 

Luke sits up and grins at him, finally kicks off the pants which have been languishing around his ankles, and scoots off the bunk to tackle Han's boots. “On a dustball like Tatooine? Gotta have fun somehow when you can't get 'hopper fuel.”

 

Han's eyebrows wing upward. And then he laughs, a full belly-laugh with his head thrown back and stomach muscles rippling. “I like you,” he says, grinning back in a way that makes him look younger, somehow, and Luke's pretty sure he's not that old.

 

“Oh, good. So you won't mind if I take your pants off?”

 

The grin turns wicked-looking. “I'll even help,” Han says as his fingers go to his belt.

 

Between them they get Han's pants and underwear stripped off and Luke has to stop then and just breathe, and look at him. Han is gorgeous – a man, with a man's body, not a boy's. Solid and lean, tanned chest framed between the white wings of the shirt he's still wearing, trim waist and long legs, and hard, full cock thrusting up from its nest of dark curls. Luke's mouth literally waters.

 

He crawls back onto the bunk between Han's legs and runs his hands over them, tracing soft body hair and the firm muscle outlined beneath, skin damp with the beginning bloom of sweat. Han's inner thighs are incredibly soft, and as Luke leans closer he gets a nice lung-full of Han's scent and the musky smell of his friend's arousal.

 

Luke has to taste. He is _hungry_.

 

He pushes at Han's knees and curls down between as Han obligingly spreads them wider, feeling his way over and up the sweet join of leg to pelvis until he can flatten his hand around the base of Han's cock, framing it between his fingers. Not so thick as his own, but long, like the rest of the man, and hard enough that the crown is emerging, tantalizing, from the foreskin. He runs an inquiring thumb up the underside, following the vein standing out there, silk skin over steel core. Han sucks in a breath and his thighs tense, and Luke smiles, and leans all the way in.

 

He hasn't got a whole lot of experience with this but he's got enough, and more than that he knows what he himself likes. He cups Han's balls and rolls them very gently, the delicate skin superfine against his fingers, and opens his mouth.

 

Han jerks and then swears as Luke envelopes him, first one side and then the other, sucking softly, pulling back to lick and then suck again. The skin taste is stronger here, sweat and arousal. Hair crinkles against his tongue and the muscles of Han's legs twitch in time to the man's sounds, little gasps that snap sparks all over Luke's skin.

 

And Luke needs more. He needs more, more, more, and pulls away to make a better detailed survey of the situation. He has to see _everything_ , wants to know it all, every –

 

“What, you doin' a schematic down there?” Han says hoarsely, and Luke looks up. Han's a little flushed and it's a good look on him, moisture sheening his features.

 

“Nah,” Luke says, and his own voice is husky. He slides his hand up and then down Han's erection, pulling slow and careful, uncovering the most sensitive bits. There's a gleam of moisture here, too. “I think I know how this works.”

 

The sound Han makes as Luke licks at his tip is incredibly satisfying, but it's nearly lost in the explosion of taste that shocks through Luke's body, straight-line run from his mouth to his cock and lighting up every nervepath in-between. Sharp, salty, intense; just – Han.

 

Luke moves his head up and down, wraps his hand around what he doesn't have mouth for, and goes for it. He swirls his tongue on the upstroke and feels the strong throbs of pulse, Han's lifeblood rushing just below the surface. Hands tangle in his hair and Han mutters and sighs above him, curses and praises and directions – the man's not shy about his pleasure, which just makes Luke hotter. There'd been little noise in the past, he had – they had – always been afraid of being overheard, but Han – Han isn't afraid of anything.

 

Icy-hot thrills rip up Luke's spine with every twitch of Han's hips, every drag of callused fingers through Luke's hair, and those grand ideas he had about touching every inch of Han's skin may have to wait for round two because Luke's control is _gone_ , his own arousal spiking right into the danger zone.

 

“Perfect,” Han moans, his voice gone so low it's practically underground. “Just like that, yeah – ” a sharper breath, “not too quick, make it last – ”

 

Luke's sucking harder now and rubbing himself mindlessly against the mattress. He reaches beneath, gripping Han's ass and slipping fingers between, searching, finding, an easy probing, Biggs had liked, does Han like – ?

 

Oh, Han does.

 

– a sharp hiss – “Oh god. Luke, wait – ” but the motions of his body say otherwise –

 

– push a little more, sweet swell of the flesh in his mouth, Luke's own groin tightening –

 

“– Luke, stop. _Stop –_ ”

 

– _no, I want_ –

 

– a sharp groan followed by sharper pain as Han's fingers knot in Luke's hair and pull him up _hard_.

 

Thwarted, Luke braces his forehead against Han's hipbone and makes himself go still, panting. The sting has cleared his head a bit, and his own body is hollering at him but he tries not to move other than slipping his finger free because he has obviously, obviously messed up.

 

He swallows a couple of times before he can speak. “S-sorry.”

 

“Don't be,” Han says, husky, fingers caressing Luke's scalp as if in apology. “But god _damn_ , kid.”

 

Luke swallows again as relief creeps in. “Don't like that?”

 

“I love that.” Han's fingers slip from Luke's hair to his shoulders. “But I'd like to love it for more than ten seconds, ya know? C'mon up here.”

 

He pulls and Luke goes, ending up on his side with Han's arm around his shoulder and Han's tongue in his mouth, kissing him with very reassuring interest. Han rearranges them so that Luke's mostly beneath him, and the edges of Han's rumpled shirt tickle Luke's chest as Han leans in to kiss him again.

 

“My turn,” Han says against his mouth, and slides a hand down Luke's torso, trailing electricity.

 

It won't take much. Sucking Han has pushed him nearly suborbital already and it won't take much more thrust to leave atmosphere. “I'm close,” Luke manages as Han nips down his throat because really, it's only polite, and then gasps as Han's wrist bumps against his cock.

 

“That's okay,” Han murmurs, and licks his nipple. “We've got all night, 'n I ain't nearly done with you yet.”

 

Any reply Luke might have had vanishes with the rest of his Basic as Han's hand closes around his erection.

 

The pressure is just this side of perfect and Luke grabs at the mattress and squeezes his eyes shut tight and tries not to scream as Han pumps him, slow and deliberate, and the rest of him is moving too, hot wet kisses down Luke's chest, his stomach, down – “if you – k-kiss me there I won't last – ” Luke forces out between clenched teeth because he doesn't want that yet and he wants it wants it _wants it_ –

 

Han chuckles, his breath hot on Luke's lower belly. “So you don't want me to suck you?” he murmurs, like the bastard somehow knows just what _hearing that out loud_ is doing to Luke. “I shouldn't put my mouth on you again?”

 

“Han – ”

 

“Lick you all over, up and down – ” like his hand is still moving, moving, “ – and up and over right here – ” gentle swipe across the slit, sending a shockwave through Luke's entire body, “ – where you're wet, taste you – ”

 

“ _Han –_ ”

 

“No?” A low throaty sound and hot breath fans Luke's crown this time. He shudders and somehow pries his eyes open and sees sex incarnate: Han's lips, red and wet and scant inches from Luke's cock. “I think 'yes',” Han says, and his head goes down.

 

A sound gets free this time because it's overwhelming, the tight heat of Han's mouth, and fire whips out from Luke's center to his every extremity and back again to coil in his groin, building, building – “ _Han!_ ”

 

“Come, Luke,” Han growls and swallows him back down, and Luke can't take any more than this.

 

Climax roars through like a sandstorm, irresistible and unstoppable. Ecstasy flays him inside-out and suspends him for one perfect, eternal moment before it drops him, leaving a panting, shuddering, tingling wreck in its wake. Han stays with him to the end and no-one's ever done that before, wicked mouth pulling the pleasure from him and it's – it's – until it's too much and Luke pushes at him with fingers he has no memory of tangling into Han's shaggy hair.

 

Han's erection seems to sear like a brand along Luke's thigh as Han surges upward. Then his tongue invades Luke's mouth and Luke's tasting himself again, salty-sharp-thick, and it wrings a shiver from exhausted flesh. Han's flushed and sweating and illicitly gorgeous, his eyes molten as he stares down at Luke. “My turn.”

 

Luke finds enough muscle control to nod. “Wha –?”

 

“Legs together tight, like this.” Forearms braced to either side of Luke's head, Han clamps his legs around Luke's and squeezes, and presses down, and pushes his cock between Luke's thighs.

 

Luke moans because this is brilliant and completely new, the way Han's cock drags across the underside of his balls. “Oh gods,” he manages as Han's weight pins him and the other man starts to thrust.

 

“Okay?” Han pants.

 

“Gods, y-yeah.”

 

“Good. _Now_ you can put those fingers back.”

 

Fingers? What – oh. Oh.

 

Still breathing hard himself, Luke digs his hands under the shirt Han still hasn't managed to remove. He glides his palms down Han's back, reveling in the lush feel of muscle flexing beneath sweaty skin, until he curves both hands around Han's ass and squeezes, gripping two handfuls of living, moving art and sliding his fingers into the cleft between.

 

Han groans against his neck as Luke finds the tender spot, circling fingertips around the edge, and again louder as Luke carefully presses in. He's moving strongly, shoving hard along Luke's balls and back against his hands, moaning and beginning to swear, and if Luke hadn't just come he'd be teetering on the edge again just from the increasingly wrecked sound of Han's voice.

 

Han kisses him but it's more a slippery slide of mouths, wet-hot against Luke's face, before he presses his face back into Luke's neck. He's still sex made flesh, by far the most erotic thing Luke's ever seen, but Luke wants more. He wants, like he can't remember ever wanting anything, to see Han come.

 

Luke pulls a hand back up and wets his fingers before he presses them cautiously deeper, two this time. Han's really, really clear about liking that, so he tries to time it with Han's rhythm, and the next push back jams Luke farther than he intends into tight, gripping heat. Han gasps, and a shudder wracks him head to toe.

 

“Okay?” Luke gets out, suddenly worried.

 

“Harder,” Han grunts out, and his fingers dig into Luke's scalp. “ _Harder_.”

 

Luke can so do that.

 

Han picks up the pace and Luke stays with him, his friend's body loosening until Luke's in practically to his knuckles and Han's still asking, wordlessly, for more. Han's breath is coming in sharp bursts now as his hips snap down hard against Luke's, and Luke works in a third finger and pushes, and twists, and curls them forward in search of that one – sweet – spot –

 

There.

 

Han arches back with a strangled cry, pleasure-shock rippling almost tangibly beneath his skin. His hips jerk frantically, his rhythm shortening and then falling apart into quick, choppy thrusts as Luke rubs over that magic spot again, and again and again until Han shouts one more time, and freezes.

 

And Luke forgets to breathe. The throbbing pulse of Han's release against the tingling skin of Luke's balls makes him shiver but he barely notices because he's enthralled by the look on Han's face – a kind of anguished, abandoned rapture that he couldn't have imagined, not on Han. A look he might never see again.

 

No, a look he _has_ to see again, Luke realizes as it vanishes, buried against his own skin as Han slumps down full length onto him.

 

Time suspends for a minute or two in some magical way, the only sound the pant of Han's breathing, until that mutates to a soft, muffled gasp as Luke eases his fingers free. Then he wraps both arms around Han and hugs him close. Sheltering him.

 

Which is dumb, really, because Han's pretty obviously not a guy who needs shelter.

 

But Han doesn't move away; instead there's a breath of a sigh and then a tingle of burn against Luke's shoulder, the rasp of Han's stubble as he turns his head.

 

Luke's half-aroused again and there's a wet spot under his butt and those things are completely Han's fault. They're also both sticky-sweaty and half-glued together, and Luke's breath is a little short because Han is every bit as heavy as he looks, this man who had saved his life –

 

Saved his life.

 

And Luke laughs then, almost before he realizes it. Soundless at first until he gets some air back in his lungs and then out loud, because he has to, because –

 

– because he _has_ to – for the sheer _joy_ of it all, the fantastic sweaty messy ridiculously awesome feeling of – well, of _everything_.

 

“Not – quite the reaction I was going for,” Han grumbles against Luke's shoulder. His voice is breathless and really, really low, and damn but he could probably just _talk_ somebody into orgasm, sounding like that.

 

“What, happiness? Sex with you doesn't usually make people happy?” Luke teases, poking a finger gently into Han's ribs because that cannot possibly be an actual complaint, can it?

 

Han levers himself up just far enough to see Luke's face and aim a pitiful excuse for a glare at him before he rolls off and flops onto his back. And Luke is going to wear the word out, but seriously, “gorgeous” is the only description for the man. Skin damp, color high, his face relaxed and hazel eyes still glittering with cooling sexual heat – Luke could just eat him up. And he will, he promises himself, he will, very soon.

 

Han regards him through half-closed eyes. “Not a talker, are ya? Rather 'n napping like any normal human?”

 

That's an offer if he ever heard one. Luke fits himself against Han's side, grinning as Han's arm settles around his shoulders. “Napping's good.”

 

Not that Luke's actually going to nap, at the moment. His body hums pleasantly with new arousal but it's not urgent yet, so he's just going to lay here and enjoy this, the hard warmth of Han's body and the weight of his arm across Luke's back. The smell of sex, of them; the comfort of another human's naked skin against his, and that's something he hasn't felt since before he left home. Another man who cares about Luke at least a bit, enough to have sex with, anyway, and he flashes back to those moments with Biggs. That last visit home, the beautiful shock of seeing him in Anchorhead, that last private, stolen hour before his friend had left again –

 

– and that's when it finally catches him, what he can't not think about any longer.

 

There is no “home” anymore. Not for Luke. Home is gone.

 

His family is dead. Ben Kenobi is dead.

 

Biggs Darklighter is dead.

 

Luke puts his face into Han's shoulder but he can't steady his breathing, not now. His eyes sting like mad and he squeezes them shut, and rubs his face against warm, still-sweaty skin.

 

“Luke?”

 

Luke swallows hard.

 

“Hey, what is it?”

 

“'s nothing.”

 

“C'mon, kid.” Han's deep voice rumbles under Luke's ear and his arm tightens. “I got ya. Talk to me.”

 

 _Kid_. Biggs had called him that too, sometimes, always with that warm tease in his tone –

 

Gods.

 

“Thought you – didn' wanna talk,” he manages to whisper.

 

“Changed my mind.”

 

And that's all Han says and somehow Luke knows that's all he will say, but the offer's on the table, there if Luke wants it.

 

And Luke might just love him for that.

 

He swallows again and finds more of a voice. “Just – one of the pilots, Biggs, was my – was a friend. He'd gone off to the Academy and he was gonna defect, and I'd just found him again, here, and ...”

 

Han rubs the back of his shoulder. “Death Star run?” he asks after a minute.

 

“Y-yeah. Everybody's gone now.”

 

“Family?”

 

“No,” Luke says tightly, and the back of his throat feels raw. “Imperials got them just before I met you.”

 

Han breathes deep and lets it out again, and the warm gust stirs Luke's hair. “'m sorry, kid. That don't help, I know. But you gave 'em all a helluva memorial. Remember that when you put those pants back on.”

 

The blood-stripes. Military honours. “I'm guessing – “ Luke swallows once more, “I'm guessing I shouldn't ask about yours?”

 

Han stills under him. “You'd guess right.” And he sounds tired, but he doesn't push Luke away, or let him go. For a few moments, he holds Luke closer.

 

Luke nods, because he's pretty sure he gets it, now. And he's just going to lay here and hold onto Han for a little while longer.

 

*

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Military Honours  
> 9.23.16
> 
> Because I've gotten really really REALLY tired of all the twee twink whiny weepy innocent (mostly) virgin Luke fic out there. I mean seriously, people: he's a hardscrabble farm kid with a gun and a souped-up car and a PLANE - you don't think he knows how things go? ::snort::


End file.
